How dyslexia might be diagnosed, or suspected, was unclear. One respondent, for example, claimed six times as many indicators were diagnostic of dyslexia, from a list provided, as did another respondent. Oddly, at a time when ‘the gene for dyslexia’ was being noisily discovered yet again, only one in three respondents claimed a family history of literacy difficulty might lead to suspicion of dyslexia. Far and away the most commonly chosen indicators of possible dyslexia were the pre-fluency conditions of tending to produce poor or peculiar spellings or reversals and inversions (75%), as well as the IQ/achievement criterion (92%). Only two other indicator signs (difficulty pronouncing polysyllabic words and poor memory) were selected by over half the respondents. Only one respondent chose a history of hyperactivity as suggestive of increased risk of dyslexia (cf. the situation in North America) and only two a history of behavioural problems.

Asked to define dyslexia only one coherent definition emerged (though attributing causation to two distinct cognitive domains) and 50% of respondents claimed to be unable even to attempt a definition and did not do so. There was a considerable tendency to use the term ‘dyslexia’ extremely loosely, often simply as shorthand to mean difficulty of any kind with literacy. Many respondents appeared to accept extraordinarily various definitions, possible causations, likely effects and indicators of dyslexia. Interestingly, the more persuaded respondents accepted very much greater variability in all of these, while still considering dyslexia to be a discrete neurological syndrome, than did less persuaded respondents.

50% of respondents considered dyslexia when assessing ABE students though only 17% routinely screened for it. Four responses claimed that the effect of a diagnosis on a student would be positive, while two responses stated that the diagnosis could be harmful. (These two respondents had clearly seen the potential for learned helplessness in a diagnosis.) Almost every respondent (92%) selected the IQ/achievement discrepancy criterion as most indicative of dyslexia, though only 25% of respondents elsewhere said they regarded IQ tests as either useful or reliable and only one respondent actually employed them. Two thirds of respondents mentioned affect as a likely alternative explanation for a difficulty with literacy. Only one third of respondents selected a family history of literacy difficulty as indicative of dyslexia. Three quarters of respondents selected the pre-fluency indicators of odd spelling patterns and a tendency to produce reversals or inversions as indicative of dyslexia.

The second broad finding, and perhaps that which is most immediately practically significant, was that at least two thirds of respondents showed considerable disempowerment, or learned helplessness, when faced with a student diagnosed as ‘dyslexic’. In such a circumstance the language used by two thirds of respondents grew grey and pessimistic, expectations fell precipitately and tuition became abruptly behaviourist, skill and drill-based and sometimes scheme-driven (eg Hornsby & Shear 1980 was suddenly put to use). Five respondents (42%) claimed that they did not alter their tuition in the face of a diagnosis – three of these were unpersuaded. Notwithstanding this self-report four of these respondents indicated, elsewhere in their testimony, that they did in fact offer somewhat reduced tuition to ‘dyslexic’ students. Six respondents (50%) overtly reported that their tuition was altered for a ‘dyslexic’ student. Wherever tuition was altered this was invariably a ‘dumbing down’. Flair and methodological freedom frequently vanished. What respondents appeared to offer ‘dyslexics’ was fragmented and deliberately repetitive, highly structured and controlled, depersonalised and focussed on the sub-skills of literacy.

A majority of respondents appeared to believe that for a ‘dyslexic’ the learning of literacy is so formidable and arduous a task that real victory is improbable. This relative hopelessness was, in many instances, sympathetically but nonetheless clearly transmitted to the student in question. Expectations fell dramatically, and almost universally, in respect of ‘dyslexic’ students. Only two respondents (17%) (one fully persuaded of the reality of dyslexia, one absolutely unpersuaded) claimed confidently to expect real progress from a ‘dyslexic’, leading to independent use of literacy in the real world. Respondents generally wrote that progress, for a ‘dyslexic’, would be difficult and uncertain; that it would inevitably take much longer and that there would be a greater tendency to regress. Progress, these respondents wrote, would be insecure and the eventual autonomous use of literacy elsewhere than in the classroom would be unlikely. Many respondents gave extremely bleak prognoses.

This survey appears to indicate that simply giving a particular student a particular diagnosis may, subtly but forcefully, affect his teacher. This general effect of preconception on attitude, belief and performance is, in fact, repeatedly confirmed through a long line of research beginning with the now infamous ‘Pygmalion in the Classroom’ (Rosenthal & Jacobson 1968). Clearly, preconceptions matter. A diagnosis of ‘dyslexia’ appears to exert very considerable power, and by no means only over the person diagnosed. It appears profoundly to affect the expectations and behaviours of experienced ABE providers, many of whom do not accept and most of whom do not believe they understand, the syndrome. It appears, notwithstanding, instantly to induce learned helplessness in them. It appears to do this entirely unconsciously - not a single respondent remarked upon the abrupt change in their own attitude and performance following knowledge of a diagnosis. That a diagnosis of it will instantly induce learned helplessness all round is a very peculiar allegation to make about a syndrome which may not even exist.